


Sworn

by HopeStoryteller



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: (She Gets Better), (Well One Nearly Does), F/F, Lesbian Vampires, No Lesbians Die, Snippets, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21786682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeStoryteller/pseuds/HopeStoryteller
Summary: "I am sworn to carry your burdens."Those words could carry so little meaning, and yet so much.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Lydia
Comments: 8
Kudos: 80
Collections: Holiday TES Fanfic Fest!





	Sworn

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [rathalos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rathalos/pseuds/rathalos) in the [Holiday_TES_Fanfic_Fest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Holiday_TES_Fanfic_Fest) collection. 



“I am sworn to carry your burdens,” she says, maybe a touch sarcastically, when they first meet.

The Dragonborn raises an eyebrow. Striking orange eyes glint in the torchlight. Lydia would find it strange if she didn’t find it vaguely attractive, and then she squelches down those feelings in her gut where they belong.

“Do you mean that in a literal sense, or a figurative sense, or…?”

Lydia shakes her head, partially to herself and partially because that’s just the oath she swore, _she_ doesn’t know whether it’s literal or anything but.

“Just tell me what to do, my Thane,” Lydia mutters. “We’re heading out in the morning, I assume?”

The Dragonborn grins anxiously. “Well, if you’re ready to go now… I kind of like the night.”

* * *

“I am sworn to carry your burdens, my Thane,” Lydia says, significantly more sarcastically than the last time she’d said it.

Thane Astra laughs. “Glad to hear it! I can’t take all these dead dragon bits to…”

“To?”

“Morthal’s closest, but there’s been some… family quarrels, let’s put it that way. I want no part in them. You think anyone would buy these in Whiterun?”

Lydia is sorely tempted to say something along the lines of Jarl Balgruuf not paying her enough to think, but thinks (ironically enough) better of it. Instead, she says, “Eorlund Grey-Mane is widely regarded as the best smith in Skyrim.”

“Or at least, the one with the best forge.” Thane Astra shrugs to herself. “Oblivion, it’s worth a shot. I don’t feel like lugging these all the way up a mountain and back, and I don’t think the Greybeards would buy these, so let’s head back to Whiterun for now.”

“With respect, my Thane, you aren’t the one who’s going to be doing the lugging.”

Thane Astra audibly snorts. “Please. I’ll be carrying at least half. It was my dumbass idea to try and sell these in the first place.”

Thane Astra carries a solid three-quarters. Lydia’s respect for her increases quite a bit. Enough, anyway, that she stops saying _my Thane_ like it’s an insult. (Most of the time.)

* * *

“I am sworn to carry your burdens, Thane Astra,” Lydia says, with some sarcasm but not as much as she could muster.

“You keep reminding me,” her Thane says wryly. “I’ll meet you back down in Ivarstead. If I’m more than two days, come back up, I’ve probably been kidnapped by shouty monks.”

“Greybeards,” Lydia corrects.

Her Thane returns just when Lydia is preparing to make the climb again, muttering angrily about a horn and being an errand girl. Lydia decides not to point out the irony in the situation, not even when they go after the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller and it’s notably absent from where it should be.

* * *

“I am sworn to carry your burdens, Astra,” Lydia tries.

Astra shakes her head. “Listen: I don’t care what Delphine says, I am _not_ going into the Thalmor Embassy alone. And while dropping the ‘Thane’ part works, the rest… doesn’t.”

Lydia audibly sighs. “This is a terrible idea, my Thane.”

“Probably,” Astra agrees. “I’ll feel a bit better about it if I have backup, though. And I bet you look really pretty in a dress.”

Lydia really, _really_ doesn’t know how to respond to that. So, she doesn’t. Astra turns out to look better in a dress than she does anyway, and is much better at pretending to be someone she’s not. Assuming, of course, that she _is_ pretending, but based on her slow and methodical slaughter of every single Thalmor agent outside the party—she hates them just as much as Lydia does. So Lydia doesn’t mind looking the other way when Astra resorts to a kind of thick red magic she’s never seen before, and doesn’t see again for a long time.

* * *

“I am sworn… to carry your burdens.”

There are worse places to collapse than your Thane’s warm arms, of course. Minus the fact that Astra’s arms… aren’t warm. They’re cold like ice. Lydia might be more alarmed by that if she wasn’t already camped out on Arkay's doorstep.

“You’re sworn to _carry_ my burdens, not _die_ for them!” Astra insists. “You’re… you’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Lydia whispers. Her eyes drift shut.

* * *

Lydia’s surprised when her eyes open again. She’s not surprised that Astra’s crouched next to her, hood up and glaring at the sun like it’s personally offended her. The sun hurts her eyes more than it used to, so she doesn’t look at it. She looks at Astra, instead, who looks beautiful as ever despite being covered in what’s probably Lydia’s blood.

“Astra—“ She coughs hurriedly, retreats to formality because her voice just cracked and she can’t do this right now. “My Thane, I—“

“I owe you an explanation, Lydia,” Astra says grimly, pulling her into a sitting position as she does. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this. But before we get to anything else, I want you to know that I just… couldn’t let you die.”

Something about this doesn’t make sense. But Lydia’s head is fairly clear, although she’s a little hungry. So she shouldn’t be this confused, unless Astra is just… not making sense.

“What,” Lydia asks, slowly, “are you talking about?”

Astra sighs, buries her head in her hands. Her hair, escaping her hood slightly, glimmers red-gold in the last rays of dying sunlight. “I’m a vampire, Lydia. Have been for a long time, and… okay, I’m sorry, it was the only way to save your life and I just—I couldn’t let you die.”

“Thank you,” Lydia says, because she does appreciate not dying. But then the rest of what Astra said clicks— _Astra_ is a vampire? Smart Astra, brave Astra, strong and smart and cunning Astra, is a _vampire???_

Astra won’t meet her eyes now.

“I’m one too,” Lydia realizes aloud, and receives a muffled sob in response.

She has a decision to make. On one side, there’s everything she’s ever heard about vampires. They’re creatures of the night, nightstalkers that will drink your blood and drain you dry without a second thought. They’ll enthrall you, twist you to their own twisted designs. But on the other side…

On the other side, there’s Astra, and everything Lydia _knows_ about her. She scoots a bit closer and pats Astra on the back awkwardly.

Her decision made, Lydia smiles wryly, and says, “I _am_ sworn to carry your burdens, Astra.”


End file.
